Halloween Special: Funky Undead Hustle
by Imaginarivalued
Summary: The creatures of the dark are prowling the night. Not as dangerous as it sounds. Actually, it's rather amusing.
1. and so it begins

_Last time on __Funky Undead Outbreak__……_

…

"_Then bite me, dammit! If you think I'm pretty you will prove it by biting me!"_

"_I-I'm sorry, but I just don't glide that way!"_

"_Excuses! I won't have my prettiness be denied!"_

"_Can't we just cuddle!?"_

"_Suck me, damn you!"_

"_Help! I need an adult! I need an adult!"_

"_Suck me!!"_

…

_And now the absurdly shameful continuation…_

…

Like any children-doting, responsible parent, Hakoda was alarmed by the strange racket and suspicious thumping coming from his daughter's ever-so-blue and plushy-filled room.

At first he thought she was just being a normal teenage girl. They seemed prone to throwing fits in proportional volatility of their estrogen rates, or at least that's what he gathered from the chart Bato lent him. However, it was predictably useless in countermeasures against the raging beast that used to be his little girl, and he had vowed never to put himself in the line of fire ever again without a proper meat shield. And since Sokka wasn't around, he opted to remain in the safety zone that is the living room.

But then amongst the clattery vibrations and rowdy pounding came a seemingly muffled cry for help, and his fatherly senses kicked into alert code ORANGE.

It sounded like a girlish plea for the rescue of said girlish person's vanity, and as his daughter was a girlish person who had an unhealthy craving for all things cute, the probability of her being in danger was speculatively high.

So he unsheathed the machete he carried regularly like any good father, silently crept up the stairs not unlike a veteran soldier, and crouched against the door to his daughter's room.

What he heard through the wooden entrance certainly did not relieve him of his worries, but neither did they confirm them. For all he knew, his daughter could be watching a very peculiar television program on full volume. But whatever the show was, it seemed to have a racy theme he wasn't too comfortable with, and it seemed to escalate unabashedly.

As the father contemplated his current options without the presence of his trusted cannon fodd—um, son, the voices in the room elevated enough for him to hear his daughter clearly, along with—_gasp_—a stranger.

"_-an't -- ju- cuddle!?"_

"_-uck me, damn you!"_

"_-lp! I need an adult! I need an adult!"_

"_-uck me!!"_

Holy guacamole! He sure as heck didn't need any additional prompting.

With a squeaky war cry, he kicked the door open with all the strength in his leg and arrived at the scene of the rather misleading commotion.

"Halt, foul evil-doer! Get away from my precious dau—guh?"

The situation before him definitely did not conform to his imagination. Instead of seeing his daughter fighting tooth-and-nail against a dastardly villain with green eyes and purple skin, he saw his daughter straddling an innocent-looking and obviously frightened boy, with her skirt hiked up by the boy's knees and her fingers tugging at the lad's mouth in a rather unsanitary manner.

"D-dad!!" Katara exclaimed, "Th-this isn't what it—"

"It's exactly what it looks like!!" The boy, having escaped the girl's prodding fingers, interrupted frantically, "She's gone bonkers! Please, Mister Machete Man! You must help preserve the holy attribute that is my innocence!"

It was a poor, not to mention misleading, choice of words, for sure, but how else did one expect the situation to progress?

"What innocence!? Stop using excuses to avoid my prettiness and taste me!!"

The entire event was confusing and disturbing, to say the least, but the worst part was the fact that Hakoda wasn't even _that_ surprised.

"Katara! I thought we talked about this!!"

The dark-skinned girl ignored her father momentarily to wrestle with the, once again, struggling vampire beneath her.

"Dad, you don't understand!" She declared, and continued in a much, much darker tone with a dangerous glare to match: "He doesn't think I'm pretty."

Hakoda _really_ wished Sokka was around.

The boy, seemingly sensed his assaulter's distraction, wrapped his legs around her waist, eliciting a surprised yelp from the girl, and with a push of his elbows flung her sideways in a move that resulted in them swapping positions, with their faces a mere inch apart.

They stared into each other's eyes in a mild trance, before the boy pulled away and dived through the unopened window arms-first. He landed on the lawn, breaking his fall with his face, the shattered glass showering on him like sharp, glazed drizzles. He recovered quickly, though, and after wobbling like an inebriated hobo, made a mad dash for freedom down the street.

Katara, now sitting upright, stared off distractedly toward the broken window, her hand gently feeling her cheek. For some reason, she blushed.

That quickly ended when blue eyes narrowed and she climbed to her feet.

"Oh, no, you're not getting away that easily! I swear upon my set of Hello Kitty plushy dolls, by the end of Halloween, you _will_ think I'm pretty and suck my blood!"

With that random declaration, she grabbed her conveniently placed hunter's toolkit and set of night-vision goggles, darted out of her room and down the stairs, having entirely forgotten about her machete-wielding father.

Said father was thus left wearing an expression akin to someone having discovered a three-headed goose with a beaver tail.

He looked at the shattered window, curtains flapping to the invading wind. He looked at the unhinged door. He looked at his daughter's set of plushy dolls that were just positively _laughing_ at him.

"………………………" They said.

Silently, he dropped his machete, reached into his pocket for his wallet, and pulled out a picture of his wife.

"Oh, Kya! Where did I go wrong!?" Hakoda wailed.

His anxiety would only further increase, when Sokka would be sent home in an ashtray.

* * *

AN: This is my sad contribution to Halloween, a mildly demanded return of Aang the Vegetarian Vampire. You will need to read chapter 18 of my collection: Elements of the World, to understand the ridiculous back story, so you probably shouldn't do that, and just enjoy it for what it is. I was going to post this much earlier, but ended up being too busy. So now it's going to be multi-chaptered and I have no idea how long it's going to be. I'm willing to take requests of the appearance of other characters. But you have to be specific about what they are: human, werewolf, goblin, fairy, etc. And I'll see if I can fit them into the story, which I probably can, because this is mostly crack. Hooray.


	2. it never started uphill

In the outskirts of a barren wasteland, three figures stand alongside the length of the lonely, cracked road in the festering waves of heat distorting the planes of vision. They are standing by a decrepit, bent bus-sign pole meditatively, eyes hidden behind fashionable sunglasses and lips hard drawn and neutral, dressed in black from neck to toe, and further layered with respective leather trench coats. Two of them are carrying dark guitar cases—as if they were coffins—in one fashion or another, while the third……the third ones held nothing in his hands, but to his back was strapped a katana sheathed in a crimson preserver decorated with golden markings.

By the man with the blade, a scorpion trudges by, holding within its claws a rapidly dying desert lizard. Without even looking, the man stomps down, crushing the scorpion under his shoes, internal juices squirting and pooling upon the sandy ground.

Soon, sounds of machinery reverberate with the waves of heat and a bus approached. Neither of the three made any movements to indicate their awareness, emotionless to the lively hotness of the world.

With a mechanical crank, the bus stopped before the trio and the door hissed before folding open.

Wordlessly, the three began to file in, taking deliberately solid step—

"Um, sir? I'm afraid I can't allow you to board," the driver said with a tilt of his chin.

By the way the man's eyebrows wagged, one could tell he was blinking. "………what?"

"I said I can't let you board the bus. Sorry, but we've got rules and protocols, and they're pretty strict and straightforward about such matters."

The man frowned, his hair seemed to fizzle. "Just what the hell are you yammering about?"

The driver tipped his forehead at him. "This whole shindig, sir. What with the obviously badass gang with concealed weapons in guitar cases and—well, you didn't even try to hide your weapon. We've got regulations against these types of scenarios, sir. Can't let you on board, might scare the elderly."

The man took a look at the empty seats. "There's nobody on the damn bus."

"That could change at any time, sir, we must look to the future. What happens if a dainty grandmother boards the bus later? What then, sir? You and your gangster buddies would scare the poor lady and then her family would be most upset. Or her friends at the retirement home. Either or."

"………you've got to be joking."

"Far from it, sir."

The two behind now tilted their heads to the side, peering into the interior of the argument.

The man growled. "We are _not _gangsters. Now let us on the friggin' bus."

"I'm afraid I've only your word on that matter. And I don't know you at all, so I must insist that your testimony is an invalid."

"Okay, that's it," the man spoke gruffly, his air of mysteriousness and coolness leaking away, "listen to me carefully, you surprisingly eloquent and talky bastard. We're the only reason why cities aren't overrun with the hordes of the undead and why your mother's brain isn't being gnawed on like a chew toy by a rapid zombie, or why the corpse of your pastor isn't being molested by some freaky—"

"I'm Greek Orthodox, sir"

"I DON'T FRIGGIN' CARE!! Just let us on the damn bus!!"

"I find your tone threatening and unacceptable, sir. It would be best if you just waited for the next bus."

"The next bus isn't coming for another _twelve_ _hours_."

"Well, as the kids who egg my house every Halloween said: sucks to be you."

The man bore his teeth, the muscles in his cheek twitching violently, and continued entering through the folded door. "_Screw you_, we're getting on—"

An unidentified entity leapt over the second row of seats and latched onto the man's face, causing him to shriek and to stumble and topple back towards the gravel ground.

The other two were quick enough in their reactions to sidestep away as the man landed most ungraciously on the ground, and in the next moment demonstrated equally impressive maneuvers as one of them immediately struck at the unidentified creature with a swift whip of a kick.

But the creature avoided the kick by rolling into the air, secured its position on the leg that aimed for it, and leapt back into the bus.

The man on the ground grunted as he pushed himself up by the elbows to see that his assaulter—a hogmonkey?

"This here is Mr. Tinkles," the driver introduced evenly, "he's my copilot and trusted bodyguard against vagabonds such as you. Say hello, Mr. Tinkles."

The hogmonkey flipped them off.

"Thank you. Now, whether or not you'll excuse us, we'll be off." He turned toward the road ahead.

A beat. He turned to them again. "Fags."

The door hissed to a close as the engine picked up and the bus drove steadily down the distant, blurring horizon.

The trio started at the distancing bus as a tumbleweed crossed the road.

"Mother trucker," the man growled, as the shortest among them helped him to his feet, "Should've just lopped his head off."

"You okay, Jet?" his companion asked in an exasperated tone.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Smellerbee," the man confirmed as he dusted himself off.

Smellerbee raised her finger, as if to say something, but faltered and turned away with a huff.

Jet scanned the two far ends of the road. "Great, it looks like we've gotta hitch a ride. Longshot, bring out the purple stockings."

Longshot sighed and placed his guitar case on the dusty earth.

* * *

_Funky Undead Hustle_

_Howl as if you have an infected pancreas/Introducing some of the weirdos_

* * *

The halls bustled with lively, ordinary highschool student activity: chatting, gossiping, hissing, talking on cell phones, brutal beatings, brutal hazing, brutal pantsings, drama crying, drama shouting, drama spitting, taking drugs, sniffing drugs, eating drugs, inhaling cough medicine, bleeding through their crotches, bleeding through their eyes taking pictures, ogling, molesting, making out by lockers, making out in lockers, making out in bathrooms, making out in lockers in the bathrooms, whatever it is that highschoolers do on a normal, un-supplemented basis, it was _all_ happening there because what's the point of a highschool setting if it didn't cover every dirty, dirty scenario?

But all activities came to a halt as a bastardized mixture of a sepia overtone and kaleidoscope corner photograph hedging rushed through the indecent humanity-packed hallway and loomed over everyone's heads like smoggy clouds of freebased narcotics, because—_woo!_—that was the effect _he_ had on everyone of any sexuality or odd fetishes.

With a loud electric guitar strum of booming entry, _he_ appeared before the mindless masses.

Wearing tight blue jeans, a white tank top, and a totally original leather jacket, he strutted down the grimy path with a hand tugging at his pocket (the jeans were _really_ tight). The students parted like shadows away from the radiant source of a candle, because he was just that majestic. Every pair of eyes was upon him. The girls swooned at the mere sight of him and the guys became uncertain of their sexual orientation while the gay ones were happily reaffirmed of theirs.

"You're not the Fonz! You poser!" Someone shouted, and was immediately silenced by the aforementioned beating for his insolence. Oh wait, that someone's violent peers realized, he's right, that isn't the Fonz. But they resumed beating on him because, well, why not?

He came to stop before what was assumed to be his assigned locker, and twirled to it dramatically, causing the couple of ogling girls nearby to jerk in surprise.

He didn't do anything, and just……stared, his two prominent bangs sashaying to the wind (the ventilation fan).

The people around were getting curious at his behavior, but were quick to gasp in awe as the locker rumbled and the door creaked open.

"H-how did you do that?" one of the two girls, who sported blonde pigtails (don't ask me. I guess she's a cheerleader or something) asked in shaky fascination.

He turned to them with a dazzling smile framed by an equally magnificent _mustache_, and spoke in a character-conflicting voice. "Ah, greetings, chicas bonitas. It is only natural. For you see, the world is vibrant with mystery. And I am very, _very_ good looking."

Neither of the two disagreed as they drooled slightly.

The girl who spoke before recovered first and swiped her mouth before forcing a non-aroused smile upon her face and nudged her friend conspicuously.

"SO," she started pointedly loudly, "I guess you must be the new sex gawd—I mean, new kid that everyone is going to be hearing about from this point on, huh?"

"That would be correct," he replied as he stroked his mustache.

"Wh-what color is your underwear—I mean, you name! What's your name!?"

"My name, mamasita, is Ha_RUUUUUUUUUUUUUU_!!" the leather-jacketed strutter howled.

"Huh?"

"Que?"

"_I want to have your spawn_," the other girl finally hissed. Her friend laughed nervously.

A guy suddenly jumped next to them. "Dammit! Return my heterosexuality, you fiend!"

"Ah, I am truly sorry, my friend. But I cannot return what was taken, for you see, I am very, very good looking."

"Oh," the teen said in disappointment for his departed straightness, "well, want to go out later?"

He was then pounced by a group of rabid highschool girls and quickly torn to pieces. "You're not pretty enough to initiate yaoi action, you bitch!" one of the girls screamed.

What a lively place, Haru thought.

Suddenly, his body shivered from blatant act of human violence and airborne bloodshed, baiting a……dark, primal hunger within him. He knew it was time to leave before something happened, even if it was still daytime, it was best not to take chances. He could already feel his beautiful mustache twitching.

"I am sorry," he began, "but I must take my leave……sexily." He left before anyone could say anything, his hips swaying mesmerizingly as he strutted away, eliciting orgasmic moans all the way out into the bright outdoors.

"Hey," a random person started, "did someone lose a ribcage?"

Welcome to (_cough_) Avatar (_cough_) Flippin' High.

* * *

Just wanted to do a quick update and introduce some characters. The actions of Aang and Katara will resume next chapter. Haru is based off of the abridged series on youtube, so I claim no true innovation. I've written out some later events already, and somehow, it gets even crackier. The Duke will be introduced later, and by request, as a goblin. Any more requests?


End file.
